


Lover Boy

by MarisFerasi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU: Human, Aziraphale is an Event Planner, Crowley is a Performer, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Power Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Prissy Aziraphale, Scottish Crowley (Good Omens), Service Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), crowley does drag, do not copy to another site, washed up rockstar Crowley, wedding planner/the band AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarisFerasi/pseuds/MarisFerasi
Summary: The wedding planner/hired performer AU no one asked for.Ezra Fell is an event planner; he mostly does weddings and large parties if the situation calls for it (or is tight on the rent and the money good).AJ Crowley is a musician who makes his living as the hired band for weddings and adult parties. He also does drag on occasion and (as the tongue-in-cheek Lourdes Prayer) is one of the more desired shows at his preferred haunt, The Ninth Circle.A randy club pick-up becomes a one night stand, which turns awkward when AJ is the hired performer for a children's party managed by Ezra one weekend soon after their hookup. Forced to work together, the two learn a little more about one another and learn that distancing yourself from love doesn't mean you can control your reaction to it.It is, as they say, ineffable.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 23





	1. The Lourdes Prayer

Ezra Fell is _not_ one for picking up men at bars. As a matter of fact, he's not exactly sure what he's doing here. All he knows is he's restless and horny and his feet brought him to the Ninth Circle club, a shockingly bright and vivacious place underground in central London, on the border between Soho and Mayfair. 

Ezra gets the back of his hand marked and steps into the dark, pulsing doorway. The club is not far from his own flat in Soho, as a matter of fact, but considering his disposition of generally avoiding such places (loud, dark, noisy clubs blaring _bebop_ and filled with people exclusively looking to hookup) it wasn’t exactly surprising that he hadn’t come here yet.

"It’s DRAG NIGHT!" the sign announces, and the crowd is teeming with life as the performers take the stage and dance and lip-sync or sing their hearts out. Ezra watches for a moment, rapt with the display of one dark-skinned performer in vibrant yellow who is dancing and lip-synching quite impressively. He shakes himself with a grin and turns to order a drink (a double Old Fashioned with a lager to back) and then edges around until he finds a small table with only one occupant hovering nearby (who, blessedly, leaves not long after).

Despite that penchant for avoiding such places, Ezra is wanting quite badly to get off with someone tonight and getting drunk helps him pull a bedfellow a bit easier. Probably something to do with reducing his anxiety and self- consciousness. He suddenly misses the old color-coding system of the eighties where you simply went in with an orange pocket square in your right pocket and looked for another one in somebody's left and took him home quite easily. 

Now there’s all this _talking_ , nearly an interview beforehand with some blokes. And really, if Ezra was after all that he'd simply start dating again. Not that that had ever gotten him far in the past. His lovers tended to hang around until the first sign of chaos and then ditch without so much as a by-your-leave. So no, the wedding planner was, ironically, devoid of attachment, himself. He was fussy and dressed like a professor and liked his solitude and books, and not many men were willing to stick around with someone with his erratic schedule, anyway. 

Ezra settles in and sips his cocktail. It’s quite good, so he downs it more quickly and then eats the cherries and watches the stage. Someone quite stunning is up there now. He watches the show with most of his attention, occasionally looking after an attractive young man in passing. A few glance back with vaguely interested looks, but none have approached, yet. 

After twenty or so minutes, a rather tall, strikingly handsome man approaches and asks to sit, which Ezra allows with an inviting grin. He doesn't usually manage to pull men this fit or blatantly good-looking, but sometimes it's nice to be surprised. 

“I’m Kurt,” the man says, leaning in. “Would you like another?” he nods at Ezra’s cocktail glass and lifts an eyebrow.

“Ezra. And no, thank you, not quite yet. It was a double,” he smiles, winking at the gentleman. “Do you come here often? You seem rather comfortable, is all.”

“Nah, every once in a while for the shows. AJ’s _heavenly_ , of course,” he nods toward the dimmed stage and Ezra glances at it again, watches the queen there getting her props in place before dashing back off into the wings to await her intro and do final costume tweaks.

“AJ?”

“Oh, _Lourdes Prayer_ , sorry,” Kurt giggles. “She’s a classic, been here for _ages_.” Ezra nods and keeps an eye on the stage while chatting up this rather handsome fellow. They discuss what they do and then what they _do_. Ezra is just starting to think that this one might be a bit more than he was prepared to handle for tonight, but it’s a possible pull just so he doesn’t go home alone, someone he can get off with and send packing ( _that was the intent of the trip out_ , Ezra tells himself), but then his attention is dragged back to the stage as a flash of red and glitter flickers in the corner of his eye. 

Lourdes can be seen in the left wing from Ezra’s vantage, standing there in waiting with a glittery black dress that is skin-tight and absurdly short. She has long red hair that does not look like a wig and is wearing very minimal makeup for a stage queen. Her legs never seem to end and are bookended at the bottom in tall black stilettos that are red-soled and only add to her towering, lean height. In all, aside from the height, Lourdes very nearly resembles a rather curveless woman onstage and for some reason (because he can _emphatically_ tell you--and his family and anyone in between-- that he does _not_ go for women, thank you very much, you’ve got the wrong shop) Ezra feels _incredibly_ drawn to this _particular_ performer. 

“Right?” Kurt laughs at his own joke, expecting a reply as he breaks into Ezra's thoughts.

“Oh, yes,” Ezra chuckles softly. “Sorry, I was a bit distracted by your friend, there. Is she—erm. Trans?”

“Nah, just _really_ fish. Pretty li’l thing though, isn’t she?”

“Oh. Indeed.”

“Ever fucked one?” Kurt asks abruptly, interrupting Ezra’s casual observance.

Ezra blinks and flinches slightly. The alcohol is rushing through him too fast now, digesting too quickly. “I—what?” Kurt huffs a laugh.

“Nah, it’s all good fun, right? One of the queens? You ever pulled one? Like, _intentionally_? I know sometimes they can be hard to get, but phew—” he mimes wiping sweat off his brow and Ezra wrinkles his nose. “Quite a ride, y’know? Generally, anyway, if you catch ‘em all hyped up after a show and all. Same as the rest of us, though, right? Some are lazy louts, expect you to do everything just cos you’re topping.” 

“You mean to imply that drag queens are _human too_?” Ezra quips, giving the stud to his left a wry smile and a lofty eyebrow. Music begins anew and gets louder, drowning out Kurt’s playful reply. Ezra turns to the stage and watches as Lourdes picks up a mic and struts out on stage to the beat, her padded hips _absolutely not_ obeying the laws of physics as she sings loud and from the soul. Ezra doesn’t know the song, but it hits him square in the solar plexus.

He wants to know this person, immediately and intimately, if possible.

“You know, Kurt, I would like that second old fashioned after all,” Ezra shouts, grinning when the man grins and goes to fetch him one.

“So, you just here for a casual pull, or?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I was just… well. In the mood tonight, you know?” Ezra sips the drink and watches Lourdes twirl around on the stage some more, singing (honest to god singing, not lip-synching like many of the performers will tonight). “She’s Scots?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Look, you seem interested in _her_ , not _me_ and trust me, I take _no offense_ , I mean, _look at her_. Opposite ends of the spectrum, here. You want an intro, after she’s off?” Kurt offers and gives Ezra a genuine smile, which takes him completely off guard.

“Oh, dear, I’m quite sorry that I’ve abandoned our flirtatious banter. You don’t have to—”

“Nah, I get it. You’re cute, but I could tell pretty soon we weren’t going to bed, ah-haha,” Kurt grins easily and without an ounce of malice. "She usually hangs around for drinks after her spot. I hope you get a ride,” Kurt winks and saunters off, looking for more amenable prey, no doubt.

Ezra gapes after the man like a fish and turns back to the stage, half expecting the queen to psychically know they've been talking about her. She doesn’t though, obviously, and keeps singing until the music dies down and the applause erupts. Lourdes gives a little curtsey and strides off on her long, impossibly slender legs.

Ezra, now bereft of both a potential bed mate and a rather gorgeous queen to watch, drinks his drink and watches the next performer come out and give their show. Several in a row come out and there is still no sign of AJ (or _Lourdes_ ) coming out to introduce themself. Ezra is knocking back the last of his second lager and saying a tipsy goodnight to the _fourth_ willing and interested man to approach his table when another shadow crosses the white tabletop.

"Well hello, dearie," A smooth voice breaks through his tipsy reverie and Ezra looks up obediently, jaw dropping when he notices the drag queen he’d been drooling after standing only a few feet away. "Y'mind if I sit?"

“Oh, yes. Hello,” he breathes, holding out a hand. Lourdes takes it and shakes, then holds up a pack of cigarettes with a questioning brow. Ezra shakes his head politely and and blinks in the bright lights that flash overhead, suddenly as Lourdes lights a cigarette and stares at him curiously.

“Didnae go home wi' Kurt didja? Smart lad, likely wouldnae ha'been able ta walk tomorrow." Lourdes chuckles and shakes her head. "What'd he have tae say? I imagine he took the opportuni'y to blether about.”

“Oh, um. Not much? My name is Ezra, uhm. Fell. By the way. He said your name is AJ and that you’ve been performing here a while, that’s really all. I do hope he is a friend and I haven’t already made a bad impression.” Ezra is keenly aware that he is staring, eyes flicking all over Lourdes/AJ and her well-manicured black nails and long, narrow frame and that artful tumble of red curls. Her eyes are a bright, burnished honey-brown that almost seems to be too bright to be real. 

Ezra is enchanted. 

“Yeah, you kin call me AJ. Lourdes is really just for the stage, y’know?” AJ lets out a stream of smoke like a dragon and is staring back at Ezra with a fixed, blank expression. “So wha'j you come ‘round for, angel? The show? Or d'you know me somehow?”

“Oh, no,” Ezra chuckles. “I actually came for why most people come to discotheques, I think. I came to pull someone for the evening, and got a bit, ah. Sidetracked by the show, if you will.”

AJ chuckles with a sort of horror at _discotheques_ and shakes her head. "So you’re no tryna to pull me?”

“Ah, well." his eyebrows betray his shock at being hit on by someone this immediately attractive. "Frankly dear, I couldn’t possibly say no, you’re _absolutely stunning_ , but I have to admit I was a little more entranced than turned on, watching you.” AJ arched an eyebrow and dropped her cigarette end into the crystal dish on the table, already tapping out another. “That’s—oh dear. I’ve put my foot in my mouth, I see.”

“I have ta say, angel. I'm interested. Yer no' gonnae preten' like I’m a girl, fuck me on all fours an’ ignore me cock, are ya? Or are you a proper chancer looking fer a fair shag?”

“Dear boy, I am as _gay as they come_. You may be my first potential drag queen, but I’m fully aware of the _equipment_ involved and I wouldn’t dare to ignore _any_ part of you. And I certainly wouldn’t be afraid to give as well as I get. I may tend to top but I also tend toward the ah, _service_ _industry_ , you see?” Ezra chances a self-deprecating grin and is enchanted to receive one in return. AJ tosses her second cigarette butt half-finished and scans Ezra top to bottom. The performer is shivering a bit in her scanty dress and Ezra is suddenly drawn to the expanse of shaved-smooth skin that makes up those long, long legs. “Oh, dear, you’re not even wearing _hose_. You’ll freeze outside!” he removes his own gabardine coat and holds it out to her, delighted when AJ seems quite taken with the gesture and slips into it.

“Well then. Yours or mine? I’m jus' in Mayfair.” AJ jerks her head to the right, indicating a short jaunt back to her flat.

“Yours is fine, if it's all the same to you,” Ezra answers, following AJ back to his dressing area and waiting for her to gather her keys and phone (a few of the remaining queens whistle at AJ and blatantly once-over her catch for the evening, but they are hissed at to hush. A few of them chuckle and go back to their mirrors and prepping their costumes) and then she drags Ezra out into the bar and then outside. “This is _your_ car?” Ezra gasps, stopping at the side of a priceless black and grey Bentley parked on the kerb outside. “I thought it belonged to the owner or something!”

AJ presses in close, backing Ezra against the side of the vehicle and leaning to the side a bit to put his bag in the seat and then straightens, bearing her weight against Ezra's front. He cups her pointy, delicate shoulder blades under his own coat and lets his hands slide down a bit, enjoying the gentle weight of another person against him. AJ loosens his tie and noses under his chin, presses a kiss there. 

“Ha, naw. She’s all _mine_. Built her myself, but that’s quite another story, angel. Get in,” AJ slips away and slides into the driver’s seat, throwing the bag of clothes and whatnot into the back as they strap in and drive the few blocks around to AJ’s Mayfair flat. The building has an underground garage, which is fascinating. They ride a lift to the correct floor, and it opens to an abrupt landing with two doors on either end of it. AJ goes for the left and opens the door, pulling Ezra in and shutting it behind them.

“Anything I need to know, angel?” AJ asks, pulling off earrings, shoes, and unclipping extensions from her hair. At Ezra’s floundering expression, she snorts a gentle laugh. “No-no touches, any STI’s, can ya only get off when someun’s suckin’ yer big toe? Now’s the time.” Fake eyelashes flutter to the table along with a pile of accessories and Ezra swallows. AJ looks just as gorgeous half-undone, if not slightly more. Ezra licks his lips and swallows. 

“Oh, ah-haha, no! As we mentioned before I tend toward topping, but I’m…amenable to either. I'm rather partial to kissing, but I understand most don’t go for that in.. these situations.”

“One night stands?” AJ kicks off the heels and shrinks to very nearly the same height as Ezra. “I like kissing. And bottoming.” AJ presses in close and thumbs at the bracers outlining Ezra’s stodgy body. “Gimme a sec?” Ezra nods dumbly and allows himself to be dragged through a stylishly spartan flat to a dark bedroom. He’s pressed to sit on the bed while AJ removes the remainder of the drag getup. Padded briefs hit the floor with a thump and torn pieces of tape start to follow.

A long, slender leg is hiked up on the bed and a tearing sound indicates a strip of grip tape coming loose. “Fuck, that always sucks,” AJ grits, simultaneously breathing with relief when his cock bobs back in front and begins to harden. Ezra licks his lips at the sight and squirms on the edge of the bed. A baby wipe is tugged out of a container on the night stand and the makeup is scrubbed away in a few practiced moves. “There ya go, laddie. All man for ya,” AJ teases, cocking a hip. His dress is still on, but is almost comically hiked up around a hard cock. Ezra holds his hands out and AJ dives back in, straddling him instantly and licking a searing kiss from his mouth.

“I’m clean, though I-- _mmf_ \-- prefer condoms for clean-up reasons anyway. Unless there’s a bath for afters.” Ezra pants, tearing the dress up and off to palm at miles of heated skin. AJ nods excitedly and pushes the bracers off, encouraging Ezra to put his hands on that trim waist. There’s no cincher beneath the dress, only warm skin and bone and lean, strong muscle now that AJ’s padded bottoms have been removed. Now that they are pressed this close, it’s obvious that AJ is all male against him, a telling hardness digging into Ezra’s hip that matches his own. “Good heavens you’re stunning.” AJ hums in appreciation and noses under Ezra’s neck to lick at the tender spots of him there, a gentle grind reminding them both why they are here. Ezra’s hands slip a bit lower and cup the skinny curve of arse there, bringing the other man even closer.

“Condoms are good,” AJ murmurs, finally tipping his chin up and catching Ezra’s mouth in a kiss that turns very heated, very quickly. "I've a gig in the morning, so no sleeping over, yeah?" he mutters against Ezra’s chin, mouthing lower until he fastens his mouth over one fat-padded collarbone and scrapes his teeth over it. Lissome fingers undo the buttons of Ezra’s waistcoat and shirt quickly, pushing them open to reveal soft skin beneath, dusted with fluffy silvery-white chest hair that darkens as it trails into Ezra’s waistband.

"Understood." Ezra tips his chin back obligingly and then moves a hand up to sink his fingers into the back of AJ's hair, tugging his head into a more amenable position. He flexes his belly back and tugs off his belt, letting AJ work on the button and fly until those too are being pushed off in haste. “Goodness, dear, I am terribly turned-on. How do you want me?” he asks, coaxing AJ to look up from where he’s worrying a mark over Ezra’s left clavicle.

“Hell’s teeth, angel, anythin’. You wanna bugger me?” AJ pants, squirming where they are pressed together at the groin. Ezra smiles and huffs a laugh.

“Mmm. Of course, but first, if you don’t mind, I’d like to suck you dear boy.” AJ’s eyes dilate visibly and he groans. It’s been a long time since someone offered, honestly.

“Fuck. Yes, yeah.” AJ allows Ezra to push him onto his back and the blonde crawls over him, pressing his weight down comfortably to snog a bit longer. He rolls to the side, petting AJ’s front and down over a hip in a hyptnotic rhythm that leaves the redhead panting into his mouth and bucking up against the heavy thigh draped between his legs. Finally, Ezra takes hold of AJ's smallish, slim cock and tugs at it playfully, sliding down to hover his face over it.

“Is this for me?” he asks, teasing the glistening head lightly with his lips, tugging at the tight foreskin with a tender application of teeth. AJ swears and bucks into his hand, struggling to _breathe_ he’s so turned on.

“Yeah, angel, go on,” he nearly begs. Ezra smiles and takes the lot of it in his mouth, tonguing all the way down to his balls in one go. AJ goes absolutely rigid and cries out, muscles tightening as he holds still and tries not to gag the other man. “Oh, ffffuck!” he cries, hands snapping to Ezra’s head. “Shit, sorry, _sorry_ ,” he mutters, hips twitching, but Ezra grabs a hand and places it back on his head, swirling his tongue back up the length of AJ’s cock.

“I don’t mind a bit, dear. Do you have some lube I can use while I’m down here?” he asks, beaming when the other man drops a half- squashed bottle in his palm. In no time at all, there is a wet fingertip circling him from behind and AJ is fighting himself not to come as soon as Ezra takes him back in his throat. The blonde senses his tension and eases off a bit, moving off to lick and suck at his bollocks instead to give him a distraction from the now-two fingers scissoring at his entrance.

“So good, beautiful boy. Doing so well,” Ezra murmurs into golden skin, dropping kisses anywhere he can reach; the jut of hipbone, the hairless skin at the base of AJ’s cock where it meets his balls, a tender inner thigh. His tongue traces the red mark left by the grip tape, sending tingling sensations all up and down AJ’s leg just as a third finger worms in beside the others and now he’s whining pitifully.

“God, please, Ezra, get up here and fuck me, yeah?” AJ is straining to hold himself in check, reaching down to squeeze at the base of his cock as Ezra obediently removes his fingers and clambers up to his knees.

“Do you have a pillow to put under your hips my dear?” Ezra pats around and grabs a small throw pillow and simply… _lifts_ AJ up by the knees with one arm under them to scoot the cushion beneath the redhead’s arse. As if he weighs as much as a gallon of milk. AJ’s eyes drop wide open. This man could literally throw him around and not break a sweat, and it does something terribly feral in his guts. His head collapses back onto the pillow beneath it and he goes limp, still panting with need, but now it is an endless pit of lust. 

“Ezra,” he says, getting the blonde’s attention as he reaches over for a condom. “I need you to _roger me bow-legged_ , yeah? Can ya do that?”

Ezra’s eyes drop open dramatically, shocked by the request. “But earlier you sai—”

“I know what I said, and that won’t be a problem, angel, not with you. Please?” AJ is breathing hard, hips rolling, searching for friction. Ezra slips on the condom and rolls it down and immediately lines himself up.

“Alright dear boy. Ready?”

“Hell yes.” AJ stretches his head back, long neck on display, and Ezra sinks down to mouthe at it while he sinks his fat cock in to the hilt in one slow, inexorable push that leaves them both gasping. He bites lightly into the tendon at the side of AJ’s neck and pulls halfway out before snapping his hips home again.

AJ cries out, sharp nails skittering down Ezra’s back as he rolls his hips up to meet the brutal thrusts and get the tip of his cock that much deeper inside. “Yes, oh fffuck!” AJ shouts, hands drifting down to squeeze the generous swells of Ezra’s arse and clutch him closer. “Harder, c’mon,” he grunts, ankles crossing behind the blonde’s bum as he moves his hands between them to stroke himself and scratch up the length of Ezra's chest.

“No, dear. You told me to do that,” Ezra pants, sweat dripping onto AJ’s smooth chest as his already-brutal pace becomes punishing and the swats the redhead’s hand away, taking hold of that pretty little cock with his own fist and pumping it at the same tempo as their rutting. He pins one slim thigh to his chest and tilts AJ's hips, snapping every single thrust forward directly into the other man's prostate. 

AJ looks up at Ezra like he can’t believe he exists and then throws his head back at a particularly rough pass over his cockhead and he's spilling over Ezra's fist. He positively howls and digs his nails into Ezra’s neck, dragging him down for a searing kiss as Ezra slows to a grind and comes with a shaking, almost epileptic orgasm that rips straight up from his soles.

“Are you alright, dear?” Ezra pants, propping up on one hand to wipe at his forehead and check over his bedmate. AJ is yawning to slow his breathing and flushed red from hairline to his pretty, pierced nipples. “Oh,” Ezra says and leans closer, petting over one black bar and the smudge of brownish-pink below it. “How did I manage to miss these?”

“Heh. You’re forgiven fer not playin’ wi’em. We were a bit distracted, no?”

“Indeed,” Ezra blushes and lets his cock slip out with a sympathetic wince. He ties off the condom and sets it on the floor by his clothes and then leans back to lay down beside AJ for a moment to catch his breath. “You’re certain you’re alright? That was… quite a bit rougher than I’d usually go. You did ask,” he says, by way of (needless) explanation.

“Nah, it was exac’ly wha’ I asked for, angel. I’m good. You need anythin’?” he asks, scratching lazily over his chest. He'd shaved it that evening and it’s already starting to itch with new growth.

“No, dear boy, I’m just catching my breath. I’ll be out of your hair soon.” Ezra coaxes the redhead into another snogging session, this time much gentler, if no less hot. Soon, though, he is yawning from exhaustion and has to excuse himself. It’s nearly two in the morning and, as AJ mentioned earlier, they both have to work in a few hours.

Ezra dresses and takes the condom to the toilet to dispose of it and then follows AJ to the door. The other man is in a silk robe, tied at the waist and his tumultuous red hair is spilling down around his shoulders in mussed ringlets. “Thank you,” Ezra says, beaming at the redhead and reaching up to cup his elbow affectionately. AJ blushes and nods.

“You too, angel. Get home safe, aye?”

“I will. Goodnight, AJ.”

“G’night, Ezra.” The door clicks shut and locks behind him and Ezra swallows, waiting for the lift to open. He rides it down, mentally kicking himself for not getting the man’s phone number. He waves down a taxi and rides home to Soho in a daze, not quite sure the experience was real.

 _Well_ , he reasons, _I could always go back to Lourdes’ show and ask in the future_. 


	2. The Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra is bustling around, perfecting every little detail of a client's very specific wedding plans, and runs into a familiar face at a birthday party thrown for another client's son.  
> AJ's band, The Fallen, is signed for a gig for some very rich bird's wedding. He is baffled to see a familiar face at the back of the room when they take stage at a kid's birthday party.  
> They may or may not have it out in a guest toilet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Useless] CW I guess for self-deprecation (but it goes hand in hand with pining so why and how are you even in the fandom if you couldn't stand it?)

Ezra smiles graciously at the young couple as they sign his contract. The bride is already animatedly explaining certain desires and requirements as he makes notes. 

"It _has_ to be non-traditional. We want more of a party than a wedding. No churches, no priest. We're asking a family friend to get certified to marry us." Anathema- who goes by Ana, she insists- explains all of this with an excited air while her partner smiles on, dopily. "And I'm looking for a country estate with large garden to serve as the venue."

Ezra nods and makes a note. He is no stranger to bridezillas, lazy brides, and everything in between. He's been doing this for over fifteen years. The witchy-new-age bride wants something with dramatic flair and gemstone colors, but enough tradition to be obviously identifiable as a wedding. 

She also has _incredibly_ deep pockets. 

"Have you decided on a date?" He asks, scribbling in his notepad. 

"Oh! Definitely autumn. October, if we can find a suitable venue for then." Ana answers, smiling at Newt who nods agreeably. 

"Octover it is, then," Ezra smiles, noting the short engagement. "We'll need to start planning immediately. Find a cook and a venue, and a band if you're going for live." 

"Oh we know the band we want. Newt loves The Fallen, and they do weddings. That's where we found them, actually, a friend's wedding last year." 

Ezra's eyebrows lift at that. The Fallen are not _exactly_ known to him (their sound is not to his taste), but he has heard _of_ them in the ways everyone has heard of Daft Punk. They are a local for-hire traveling band, performing all varying levels of alt-LGBT style and popular among the younger crowd. In fact he has a birthday party coming up this weekend where the band will be playing for the American Ambassador's eleven year old son. Ezra presumes he shouldn't be surprised that Newt is into them. 

"All right, well. Here is my telephone number and email address, I trust we will be in touch soon. Let me know of any decisions you make, so I can contact the businesses. Otherwise I will present options to you on Thursday, as planned." He gathers the contract and signs his end and hands them a copy, bustling all his papers into a worn leather messenger bag. 

They depart and Ezra goes back to his home/office/sample shop to begin planning. This timing is abrupt (three months is hardly any time for an engagement at all), but his intake percentage of this contract will pay his central Soho rent for _six months_. It's worth the stress, he tells himself, and scuttles home a bit faster than usual despite the unseasonally temperate weather. 

He is still thinking of the drag queen he met a few weeks ago, and whether it is too soon (or too telling) to go back to the Ninth Circle club yet. If AJ would even be there. 

If AJ would even say hello, or if the cold shoulder was a likely reaction. 

_You should have gotten his number, you idiot_ , Ezra scolds himself for the thousandth time, locking the door to his shop behind him. He spreads out the notes from Anathema and Newt on his desk and opens his aging laptop and starts searching for any country estates available to rent in October. 

* * *

Anthony pushes his hair off his face and sucks in air. He's sweating and it's only been a few minutes under the lights onstage. He's belting it out, singing the requested music for the gig his band has been signed to. It's a small gig, some company's tenth anniversary, but it paid decently and they got free food so none of the band can complain too much. 

After four requested songs they break and let a speaker come make a speech, scurrying off to gorge on bacon prawns and petite-fours until they are summoned again. Bee and Liggy argue quietly but viciously over the last of the egg sandwiches until Anthony hisses at them to shut up and sacrifices one of his own to them. He takes a cucumber and lemon butter instead and finds a quiet corner to sit. He takes his phone out and plays idly on it, checking messages and emails (both are empty, nothing new to report. All of his friends are here with him anyway).

For a moment, Anthony's thumb hovers over Facebook. 

_Who are you, Ezra Fell? Would you be on there if I looked_?

It bothers Anthony at the most random of times, the fact that he'd never seen that white-haired bloke before in his life, but he now knows that he's a considerable lay and sweet to boot. He hadn't given Ezra his own full name, so it was unlikely they'd find one another again unless he came 'round to the club. 

Or Anthony resorted to cyber-stalking. 

"Anto! We're on in three!" La Vista, the bassist, stage whispers to the frontman and turns to go fetch Bee and Liggy. Anthony nods and scrubs at his eyes, pocketing his phone. 

They finish the show and leave sweaty and exhausted but high on the performance. Liggy and La Vista demand to retire to their preferred pub and Bee agrees, dragging Anthony with them. He complains into a pint and throws darts and plays billiards, all the while thinking that if he were at a different club tonight, he might see a white head bobbing among the crowd. 

He might get lucky. 

Anthony grimaces at his own moroseness and knocks the last ball into the pocket and declares that he's going home to soak in a hot bath and sleep for a week. 

"You can't, idiot. We have that birthday show saturday." Bee prompts from the shadows where they are sat. "He's eleven, how are we dressing?"

"The kiddy shit is probably too young," Liggy agrees. "Regular gear and pop songs?" 

"'S mum said they found us at the Jörgensen wedding, so yeah prob'ly pop." Anthony sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Alrigh', see you lot tomorrae then, to make the set and practice?" 

He gets a round of grumbled _yeahs_ and waves them off, climbing the stairs up to the main road to catch a taxi. The ride to Mayfair is uneventful and quiet. 

When he gets home, Anthony tosses his keys in the bowl and stares at the lashes still beside the dish from where he left them a few weeks ago, dragging another man home for a shag after a drag show. Ezra had been kind and respectful, not to mention a good lay. 

_Maybe looking him up wouldn't be such a bad idea. He seemed to like me, too._

_Yeah, right._

Anthony scoffs at himself and pours a glass of a peaty scotch and then runs a bath, already feeling the strain in his shoulders and back from the show tonight. 

* * *

"Of course. Yes I'll forward the payment today. Y-yes I'll be coming by next tuesday to make arrangements. Thank you, as well. Good day." Ezra blows out his cheeks and hangs up on the estate manager after having booked the house and garden for the Device-Pulsifer wedding. The short notice had been an initial (and ghastly) " _No_." But waving around a few extra thousand pounds had changed the estate manager's tune quite quickly. A call to adjust a tour to the next weekend and the manager called back with a saccharine approval for the dates and a drastically increased price tag. Ezra had jumped on it, having explicit permission to do so with no price ceiling. 

He crossed _venue_ off the list and went down to _caterer_. The band had a scribbled "Fallen" next to it and a dash to the side that said _handled_. It could be ignored for now. 

Ezra got up and made himself a cocoa and stretched his legs for a bit, pondering lunch, before getting back to the task of hunting down a suitable caterer for a smallish but extravagant wedding.

His favorite part was up next: going on _tastings_. 

Ezra called around and set up tasting dates with four of the best caterers and four top cake shops for the following week, before emailing the list to Ana for approval. 

_Perhaps I could do "the google" thing for Lourdes and see what comes up._

The thought breaks into his train of thought unwarranted and somewhat unkindly. Ezra scowls at himself and finishes the email and turns his attention to final touches on the American Ambassador's son's birthday party that would be happening in two days. 

(He hadn't even _wanted_ to do this party. He doesn't particularly like children, as a rule, but when the wife of the American Ambassador had barged into his shop nearly two months previous and talked to him like they'd already signed a contract, he felt a little too cowed (by the money, not the bossy woman- it is Soho after all and rent is _not_ cheap) to say No. 

In fact, it was later that night he had gone looking for some stress relief in the arms of a lover. And met AJ, the fascinating and beautiful man that had haunted his idle thoughts since). 

_Get ahold of yourself_ , Ezra shook his head and went to make himself a cuppa. _Not as if you haven't had one night stands in the past and not looked back._

In fact, after his tumultuous split with Gabe, (who had been incredibly cruel and verbally abusive upon retrospection) Ezra had fairly explicitly kept himself to casual Grindr-based flings and one night stands. They did nothing for his anxiety, or the inherent desire he had to hold someone through the night and wake up pressed close for a lie-in before a full fry- up, but they allowed Ezra to keep his soft heart protected and his self-worth intact. 

_This AJ could be just another Gabe, waiting to say all the worst things he could think of to you before stepping out with his gym instructor_. _He was so beautiful and talented, someone like that is not waiting around for chubby, boring, old you._

Well. That was that. Ezra pursed his lips and made his tea and retired for the evening to his little flat above the shop. 

The next day ran similarly. Ezra only opened the shop for a few hours on Fridays for appointments only, and otherwise used it as planning time or being out on calls, as Friday afternoon and evening was a popular choice for business parties. This evening, he stayed holed up behind his laptop with a glass of white and a tray of takeaway sushi from his favorite restaurant a few blocks away. 

The final touches for the Dowling boy's birthday party had been finalized, caterers and decor rentals made and quadruple-checked, and all that was left was to show up in the morning and snap the hired help into order. 

He also needed to meet these Fallen band members and sign them to the Pulsifer-Device wedding, and tomorrow would be ideal to find an opportune moment. 

Ezra shut everything off and went to bed, rubbing the blue light from his eyes as he went. 

Tomorrow was going to be a long day. 

* * *

"Get up, you rotten layabout!" Bee threw a pillow at Anthony's head and sniffed rudely when he jumped half out of bed, startled awake and arse-naked. "I'm going to make coffee and you _better_ be dressed for the birthday party by the time I'm done. We're likely to be late at this point!" They pulled the blankets off him and threw them on the floor for good measure and stormed out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. 

"Urgh," Anthony grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. "I _never_ should'hae given you a key!" he shouted. They screamed something back but it was muffled by the plant room between the kitchen and bedroom. 

Anthony got up and stumbled into the toilet, possibly _the most_ hungover he'd been in years. He pissed and wet a flannel and scrubbed at his pits and groin, spraying everything with body spray before struggling into some skinny jeans and a simple black button-down.

"Jesus how much did you drink last night?" Anthony heard bottles clinking as Bee shoved them into the bin. 

"A lot." 

"Drowning your sorrows?" They teased, digging out a travel mug. Anthony scowled and shoved his second trainer on. he stomped into the kitchen and sat listlessly on a barstool. 

"I brought a bloke over a few weeks ago an' he's been on ma mind, if you _must_ know." 

Bee put the lid on his travel tumbler mug. "Oh _Satan below_. you're smitten and it was a one night stand, wasn't it? Did I tell you to stop taking home _fuckboys_ from the club?" They shoved his coffee at him and pointed imperiously for the door. 

"Jeez, it's no _that_ late. And he wasnae a _fuckboy_. He was _nice_." Anthony grumbled and locked up, joining Bee at the lifts just as the doors dinged open. 

"It's an hour and half drive and the party starts in two, you lazy ass." 

Bee stuffed him into the band van and Liggy took off with pealing tyres. 

"Wake me when we gie there," Anthony groused, lolling his head back on the back of his seat. He fell asleep almost instantly, despite Liggy's violent driving style. 

"Yeah, like you're gonna be much use by then." Bee growled under their breath but the frontman was already out like a light. 

A little over an hour later, Anthony was shaken awake by La Vista gripping his shoulder. "Get up, Anto. time to set up, move it!" He jolted up and grabbed his guitar case and the mic box and followed the trail of black-clad bandmates into the huge tent setup. Bee went directly to the sound booth and started helping the engineer hook everything up, trailing cords to the stage where Liggy waited and began wiring the amps and foot plates and then finally the mics. Anthony helped La Vista set up the drums and within about ten minutes they were ready to roll. 

"Well- oiled machine, us," Liggy crowed, thumping Anthony on the shoulder. "You gonna be alright to sing, Anto? Looking a bit green, mate." 

"I'll be alrigh', just need'a coffee and ta eat summat." 

"Here," Bee appears at his elbow with a sandwich and bottle of water pilfered from the table of snacks being laid out on the far end of the tent. 

"Ta," he sighs a bit too gratefully and chokes down the food, drowning it immediately in the entire bottle of water. The show is about to start, they need to tune up and get settled immediately. Anthony tosses the bottle in a nearby bin and gathers his guitar out of the case. Bee watches him carefully and gets behind the drum set and starts tapping at them, tuning the tines until everything sounds right. Anthony and La Vista tune their guitars against one another while Liggy sets up the pre-programmed beats on his keyboard and the band is ready to go in short order. Anthony sings quietly, hitting notes he knows will strain his vocal cords but will get easier the longer they are on and the more he's warmed up. 

"Oh, good, you're ready. The kids are ready to come through, so be ready to start as soon as they flood in. Does anyone need anything?" a worker of some kind is fluttering around the stage, a caterer, going by his clothes, and the band collectively says no. They are good at getting a show done and then pigging out on the leftovers of the spread, and La Vista says as much. 

"Ready," Anthony says, lining himself up behind the mic. he shakes the stress from his shoulders and lets his mind go blank, except for the music and the performance ahead. The first kid breaches the edge of the tent, loud and excited, and the first chord strums out into the empty void of the tent, electrifying the air. The band picks up behind him, and the show begins. 

* * *

Ezra is ushering the last stragglers out of the house and into the tent outside. The weather has been perfect for the party, lightly sunny and mild with a breeze that carries through the tent and keeps the heat from building up. The caterers have miraculously had not one single problem thus far, and the decor set-up had gone smoother than expected. 

All in all, it was a _shockingly_ good party. Even if it was a kid's birthday party. He lags behind to straighten up the den and kitchen a bit, helping the caterers get the last few items out of the refrigerators to be set out. The massive cake takes up two whole shelves in the massive American-style appliance, and he stares at it for a moment, baffled at that kind of disposable income. 

_The things people allow me to spend their money on_.

Ezra shakes his head with a snort and goes out to the tent to watch over the proceedings and lend a hand where needed. He ends up helping the mother of the birthday boy wrangle shredded wrapping paper from presents into a bin. The tent is pulsating with music and swirling lights, a recognizable tune even to Ezra, who hasn't intentionally listened to music more up-to-date than his Marvin Gaye 1972 Christmas album. 

The music, although not to his taste, is a nice background to the chaos of twenty eleven year old children and all the noise _they_ make. It's a complementary distraction, he decides. Once the bin is full and pushed carefully off to the side for a waiter to empty, Ezra glances up at the stage. 

His mind freezes in its tracks, trying to rebel against what he's seeing. Because what he's seeing is AJ on the stage, singing in tight jeans and a tight black button-down, and a band is with him, and he is a performer at a _child's birthday party_. 

_What_. 

"Mr Fell?" Harriet breaks into his conscious mind. Some part of him shakes loose and says _the client, you idiot_! 

"Ye-ahem, Yes, sorry, Mrs Dowling, how can I help?" Ezra asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the stage for long. _AJ is the lead of the Fallen, the band I'm meant to conscript to THE wedding of my fiscal year! Oh dear._

"Oh I _know_ , handsome isn't he? I was so glad then Warlock agreed to let them play, it was secretly for me," Harriet giggles and pretends to swoon theatrically. Ezra plasters on a grin he knows looks uncomfortably thin and waits her out. "Oh, uhm, but anyway, I was going to ask if you'd let the band know that you had the caterers set aside trays for them in the kitchen? That way the kids won't bug them between sets. I agree, that was a great idea."

Ezra curses himself silently. He had really only done that so he could get the band alone to get them to sign the contract for Ana's wedding, but now he's more than a little edgy at the idea of getting AJ in the same room with him at all. 

_How would it even go? Ah yes, Mr. AJ, thank you for letting me bugger you blind after a show last month; can you please do me one more favor? Ah, yes, sign the dotted line._ Ezra cringes and nods to Harriet and makes a quick exit of the tent. 

For someone who's thought of the edgy performer daily since their casual hookup, Ezra is anxious as all hell at the prospect of meeting the other man again in person. And now that his income might literally hinge on it, the pressure feels intense. Ezra snags the elbow of a passing waiter- who's been on a smile break bu the smell of it- and tell him to tell the band to go inside for food and a break between sets. The waiter nods and takes off, straightening his jacket and bowtie. 

Steeling his nerves and straightening his own waistcoat, Ezra turns and goes into the house and straight to his bag, pulling out the Pulsifer-Device file. He digs for the spare contract and puts it on top, pocketing a pen, and then goes to the kitchen to wait. The band should be breaking, soon. 

* * *

"That's what he said," La Vista jerks his chin toward the skinny kid in the white blazer, staring wide-eyed at Anthony's scowl. 

"Why are we being separated off?" 

"Oh, no sir. I think the host just wanted you guys to have a break from the uh, the kids," the waiter nods back to the loud chaos behind him as the raucous group is beginning a food fight. 

Bee pipes up with a typical growl of, "I'm all for it," and disappears behind the wall of the tent without waiting for anyone else to agree. Anthony sighs and follows Liggy and La Vista out of the tent and into the house via a wide sliding-glass patio door. 

The house is massive and open-style, everything communal being visible, even a long hallways that disappears and crooks into another recess of the house. They make a dark smudge of a line travelling through the modern, clean space to the kitchen, where several trays of sandwiches, bowls of salads and fruit, and pitchers of lemonade and iced tea (pfft, _Americans)_ are spread out attractively and waiting for the band to take part. The controls to the telly are also on the counter, and a massive screen is overtaking one wall above the fireplace in the adjoining den. La Vista immediately moves to the den with a remains of a tray of sandwiches and Liggy follows with the bowl of mixed fruit and a fork. 

Bee settles on a bar stool with a mounded plate and starts eating. Anthony figures he may as well stuff up despite the hangover wreaking havoc on his insides; he may have free housing but the rest of the bills will take everything he's made in shows this month and leave little for groceries. This may be the last time he's full this month. He settles next to Bee with a full plate and contemplates the pros and cons of snooping for takeaway containers in the cupboards when someone clicks daintily down the hall toward them.

"Ah, hello, members of The Fallen. My name is Ezra Fell, and I need to speak with whomever of you does the booking, please?" 

Anthony chokes on his mouthful of melon at the sound of _that voice_ (which has haunted his daydreams for weeks) and whirls around to see none other than his lay from the nightclub, standing just as prim and put-together as he had that fateful night. There's a stack of paperwork and a cheque book in one hand and an anxious smile on his face. He clearly recognizes Anthony as well and is trying to give them both an out by ignoring the elephant in the room. 

Bee kicks him in the shin and Anthony jolts back into himself from that brief out-of-body experience. 

"Wha-uh. Me." He stammers uselessly, certain he's red as a beet. Bee is frowning at him and eyeing Ezra with an air of curiosity and protectiveness. Anthony refuses to watch, refuses to see the spread of knowing in their black eyes. 

Ezra blushes a bit and seems to shake himself and then comes around, keeping the island of the kitchen between them. He stacks the paperwork for the wedding against the counter and settles a cheque on top of it for the party today. 

"There is payment for today, in full. If you require more for any conceivable struggle you endured in getting here or performing, I am able to accommodate?" Ezra hands the cheque over and smiles professionally at the redhead and then to Bee.

"Yeah, actually--" 

"It's fine," Anthony interrupts La Vista's shout from the den. "We're fine wi' this," he can't quite look Ezra in the face right now, mortified as he is by the actual horror of seeing your best lay in eons abruptly at your place of work. "Wot's tha'?" He points at the papers and pockets the cheque.

"Ah. I am an event planner, and I do weddings mostly. A young couple has requested you to play for them in two months' time at the Bateman's Estate, outside of Burwash. The bride is an American heiress. I _strongly_ suggest you take the gig and quite possibly take the rest of the year off." Ezra primly slides the contract across the counter to Anthony's fingertips, with a pen to follow.

Anthony scrutinizes the last page and the amount they will be paid and his eyebrows shoot up. " _Wot._ "

Bee leans across and snatches the contract, flipping to the last page. Anthony stares at Ezra's hands, folded carefully on the edge of the counter, and winces at Bee's gasp.

"Holy shit. Anto, we're _bloody well taking this_ , gig. There's no question. We could seriously be made for months on this cut!" Bee takes the pen off the counter between Ezra and Anthony and signs it, taking the papers to the two men in the den for them to do the same. The resounding _whoop_ from them both is unsurprising, but makes Anthony cringe anyway. 

He still can't meet Ezra's eyes. Can't imagine what the posh, gorgeous, unfairly nice twat is thinking in this moment. 

_It's a terrible moment_.

_Just look at him, you fucking git._

Anthony swallows and glances up, honey-yellow eyes meeting riverbed- blue and for a split second, he imagines a knowingly empathetic smile on that plush mouth. It disappears into a studied mask of professional expectation when Bee's Doc's stomp back across the wood flooring. 

Bee brings the contract back and tucks it and the pen into Anthony's hand and goes round to shake Ezra's. "Thanks for this, we could really use the break. Gigs have been thin on the ground lately." 

"Of course, dear. My job is to get the bride and groom who and what they want, and they asked for your band, specifically." 

Anthony signs the contract with stiff fingers and nudges it back across the countertop, finally looking up at the wedding planner intentionally. 

"Thank you." Ezra says, signing the contract as well, separating a carbon copy of the last page for them to keep. He pockets the pen and tugs at his waistcoat, an anxious tic. "I'll send the details for the time and requested set as soon as I get the list from the couple. Hopefully within the fortnight." 

_Fortnight? Who the fuck talks like that_? Anthony is still reeling, food forgotten, watching Ezra charm the indomitable Bee into going back to their plate of food. At a glance from him, the drummer smoothly takes their plate into the den to eat with the others. 

"So." Anthony clears his throat. "Fancy meetin' you here, angel." 

"Indeed. I'd no idea you performed so... regularly." Ezra blushes a bit and glances around the room. "I mean, well. That you also headed a band. I knew I had to sign with The Fallen today, but I didn't know anything about the band before now." He brushes his fingertips over the contract and clears his throat. Anthony hasn't moved, is still staring somewhere in the vicinity of his tartan bowtie, but he flinches at that first remark. "How have you been?" 

"Would yeh follow me, fer a mo'?" 

"Oh, uhm," Ezra glances at the glass wall beside them, over the side lawn where the tent is still full of smiling clients and chaotic children. "Yes." 

Anthony gets up and goes down the hall where they had come in earlier, ducking into the toilet and tugging Ezra in behind. he shuts and locks the door and paces the long room in front of the sink, hands scrubbing over his face. To his credit, Ezra waits patiently and wrings his hands, anxious but unable to pinpoint the reason. 

"Look. The rest of 'em don't know about the drag shows. Bee knew that I _used to_ , but not that I'm _still_ doin'em. It's income, and the rest of 'em would be mad I left them out of a gig, alright? So keep shtum." He pokes a gentle finger at Ezra's sternum and tries to come off fierce, but it's really rather more endearing than anything else. 

"Alright, yes. I do apologize." Ezra fights a smile and sort of loses. He's sure he looks like an idiot, but that seems to be a theme when he's around this man. 

"Good. Now, gimme yer number so I can text yeh." Anthony pulls out his mobile and types _Ezra Fell_ into a new contact. Ezra dictates his personal number, blushing at the implication of more contact with the latest subject of his most erotic and romantic fantasies, and flinches when a vibration goes off in his jacket pocket. "Tha's me. Save it." 

Ezra nods, licking his lips. It draws Anthony's golden gaze instantly. "I've been thinking about you ever since," Ezra blurts, ears turning bright red immediately after.

Anthony grins and ducks his chin. "Me too, angel. You're very sweet." 

"May I kiss you?" Ezra whispers, leaning in a bit. They are still a good foot apart, Anthony's back to the sink, and the redhead swallows hard and nods, re-pocketing his phone. 

A hank of hair falls over one ear into his face, easily pushed back by a plump hand as Ezra closes the distance and backs Anthony against the sink properly when their mouths connect. His fingers curl under the base of Anthony's skull, tilting their heads just so as their tongues meet for a brief taste. 

"How long is your break?" Anthony asks against Ezra's mouth after a moment, flicking his tongue against the tip of top lip as the blonde pulls away to answer. "They gave us thirty minutes now, another fifteen later." 

"Not really on break, I was just seeing to the contract." Ezra blinks slow and stifles a groan when Anthony ruts against him experimentally. His hands fall to bony hips and drift back, squeezing those tight, tiny cheeks to encourage another thrust. "I could be tempted into a few more minutes, though." 

"Mmm." Anthony claims his mouth again, nipping lightly and then soothing the sting with his clever tongue. "Been wanting to _taste you_ since last time." 

"Better not, dear boy. You're singing, after all. Need to leave that throat alone for now." Ezra, incredibly enough, _pouts_ and it's about the most endearing thing Anthony has ever seen in his haggard, ridiculous life. He very nearly says _fuck the show, Liggy can sing_ and drops to his knees.

Before he can, the blonde slides a hand back into his hair and tugs lightly until Anthony's head falls back and then moves to mouthe over his bared throat, sucking lightly at the pulse. He lingers over the feel of beardstart prickling his lips and the acrid taste of lavender and cedarwood-based cologne. Anthony whines and ruts forward again, needing to speed things along. 

"T- _agh_ , together?" He croaks, fumbling for belts and pushing his tight jeans down under his rump when Ezra nods fervently and bites down on his collarbone. His nose is holding the neckline of Anthony's shirt out of the way but he reaches up to unbutton the top few offending pieces of plastic regardless, licking down over more skin until Anthony is arched back against the vanity and their cocks are pressed together in his long fingers. Ezra ruts them together, tongue seeking a nipple, the stiff peak of it pinched lightly between the tines of a piece of jewelry in the rough shape of a safety pin (in black, naturally). 

He gathers the whole bit of flesh behind his teeth and tugs lightly, relishing the gasp Anthony lets out as their hips stutter together again. "Fuck," the singer groans, thrusting harder against Ezra's cock in his fist, his chest pushed up so Ezra can reach the other nipple easily. After it's suitably reddened to match the other, Ezra anchors his foot between the vanity and toilet and begins thrusting in earnest, grunting when the redhead twists early their wet cockheads with the up stroke and all too soon he is spilling over Anthony's fist, shuddering to a stop. 

Ezra realizes with a jolt that Anthony is still tugging at himself with a plaintive whimper. He pushes Anthony up onto the countertop and drops to his knees, sucking his smallish cock down easily. Anthony releases a cut off shout and comes, balls drawing up near painfully when Ezra's tongue flashes out to lick over them, his cock still buried deep in the blonde's throat. Ezra swallows around him, his tonsils squeezing out the last drop of come and then he is released with a trailing lick that makes the redhead nearly shake apart. 

"Fucking hell," Anthony wheezes, melting into the sink until his bum slides wholesale into the basin. He can't be arsed to care at how goofy he must look just now, not with the prim and proper man at his feet wiping at his lips with a hanky and then popping a eucalyptus pastille in his mouth. "You bloody minx." 

Ezra smirks a bit and groans as he gets up to his feet, helping Anthony out of the sink and back into his tight jeans. He pulls his phone out and makes a show of saving Anthony's number. He hesitates on the contact screen. 

"Ah," he starts, somewhat awkwardly. "What shall I save you as? AJ?" 

Anthony chuffs breathily and zips his trousers, shaking out the wild curls of his long hair until they're back in some semblance of order. "Anthony Crowley, luv." He buttons up his shirt and tucks the tails back in, suddenly lean and every bit as grunge as before Ezra started tasting his skin. 

"Anthony," Ezra murmurs, typing it in carefully and hitting save. "Glad to meet you properly, my dear." He holds out a hand and grins when the redhead takes it with a shy chuckle.

They head out and back to the rest of the band, trying to will the blood out of their cheeks. La Vista is peering in cupboards when they step back into the kitchen. "Oh, yes. There are to go containers in the bin beside the fridge. I've been told you lot are welcome to any leftovers at all." 

Ezra gets three happy faces in return, and a fourth thankful grin which he is certain will be seared behind his eyelids for some time. "Nice to have met you all. Anthony-- I'll be in touch." Ezra nods and back out of the room, off to find the hostess. 

Anthony dips his chin and scoffs two sandwiches to hide his blush from Bee, who is instantly curious. "Shut it," he growls. 

For once (or for now), they listen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chap will be more get-to-know-you backstory on each, perhaps some mild angst (and probably more smut, knowing me). Fluffy times ahead!  
> I'm thinking a total of 4-5 chapters.


	3. Can I tempt you to lunch?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra and Anthony have a date and get to know one another better before the big wedding.  
> A skeleton from Ezra's closet seems to know Anthony as well, will this cause a rift in this budding relationship?  
> Let's hope not!
> 
> **content warning** there is a NON-graphic description of an attempted rape in the chapter. If you want to avoid it, stop reading when Anthony goes home with Ezra after lunch and pick up at the next line break

Ezra was rifling though the papers in a folder on his desk, animatedly haggling down the line with a representative for the estate he had rented for Ana's wedding. It was coming up fast, and he was being paid _very_ well to make sure everything went swimmingly. 

But this absolute bastard is making it significantly more difficult by the minute.

"I'm sorry, we can't _what_?" Ezra barks, indignant. 

"No candles, I'm afraid. It's a historic, _protected estate_ , Mr. Fell." Good lord, he could _hear_ this guy rubbing a finger and thumb in his eyes. "Nothing tacky on the walls either, and no puncturing the walls." 

"How-- _why would you spring this on me with one week left_?" 

"It's in the rental agreement, standard protections. Hardly _my_ fault if you didn't read them. But that _is_ why I'm going over them with you now." 

" _Fine_. We'll be in touch about that soon, I suppose." Ezra hung up on the estate manager and nearly screamed, he really _really_ did. His phone vibrated in his hand before he set it on the desktop, interrupting his spiraling thoughts and calling his attention to the banner message. 

**A: busy today, angel?**

_Oh! Anthony._

Ezra smiled at his phone like an idiot and slowly typed out a reply. 

_E: Hello, darling. Just making calls and finalizing wedding plans. I have a few errands to run to rental shops to make sure all of our colours match._

_E: What are you doing?_

**A: was asking you to lunch, but sounds like you're busy.**

**A: another time, then.**

* * *

Anthony grimaced at his own pathetic grovelling for attention and threw his phone on the bed. He wrapped himself tightly in his dressing gown and puttered through the flat to make coffee. Just because they had been on two very pleasant dates since the birthday party did _not_ mean that he was entitled to replies or spontaneous lunches. 

Anthony had only been up an hour or so with his thoughts circling around Ezra and something itching under his skin. Ignoring the anxiety for what it was, he had forced himself to take a long, hot shower and perform the usual ablutions before reaching out.

He made the coffee mechanically, turning to fetch a granola bar and an apple for breakfast as it brewed. 

_Ezra is busy. Not the end of the world, you entertained yourself plenty well before he came along_. 

Anthony grimaces at his own pathetic inner monologue and bites viciously into the granola. A faint vibration echoes through the stark void of the flat and he whines quietly to himself. 

_Probably a gentle let-down. Wouldn't be the first time_. 

He gets up and bites into the apple to free his hands, picking up the mobile from where it had fallen between the pillows. 

_E: Temptation accomplished, you little devil. When and where?_

Anthony choked a bit on the apple as he bit into it hard enough for the fruit to drop to the bed. He glanced at the clock and started mentally mapping the route between his flat and Ezra's. 

**A: I'll get you, angel. Give me half an hour?**

The response was almost immediate.

_E: We could walk, it's not far between us. Or if you insist, you can leave the bentley in my private spot, darling. We can walk to wherever. No sense in searching for parking in central London._

It would be nearly a thirty minute walk if he started _right now_. Driving and leaving the car at the shop was a better option, Anthony thought, glancing down at his black leggings and oversized knit jumper with an open dressing gown draped on. He tossed off the dressing gown and ran for his boots, wanting to get there as soon as possible. Maybe if he got there early he could lounge on the sofa near Ezra's desk and watch him work for a few moments.

**A: alright. Brt!**

Ezra didn't answer, which was fine, Anthony could hardly stand the distraction of holding a conversation right then as he darted through the flat gathering his phone, keys, spritzed on some cologne, spread on deodorant, shoved his feet in his favorite snakeskin booties, and ran out the door. Instead of driving, he hailed a taxi while walking and slid in, offering a nice tip for expediency. 

The singer piled his hair up in a loose bun and tied it crudely with a curly bobble, letting a few wisps hang loose around his ears and nape. He tried not to glare at the state of the chipping varnish on his nails. _Black diamond never stays on long_. When he leapt up the shop steps a scant fifteen minutes later (and twenty five pounds lighter), Anthony was feeling every bit of the anxiety thrumming though his veins, despite how he had been willing himself to ignore it. He stood on the top step and forced a breath through his hollowed out chest, willing life into it. 

_Stop panicking you fucking knob. He likes you. _

It was ridiculous to feel like this. This was hardly a first date ( _third_ , his lizard brain supplied- _time for more sex_ ) and they had already _had_ one another several times over both before and since those dates had manifested (the meals, in his mind, becoming little hurdles between expanses of soft skin and kisses). Anthony huffed at himself and opened the shop door after a cursory knock. 

Ezra looked up from an ancient laptop when the bell over the door jangled and positively beamed at his friend. "Oh, hello my dear." He stood and closed the laptop, tugged at his waistcoat, and came forward with a warm smile still wrinkling his features. He kissed the redhead's scruffy cheek, cupped his elbows fondly. Anthony tried to remember how to breathe and struggled to not look like too much of a soppy idiot.

He probably managed to look ridiculously fond instead. 

"Hi, angel. I took a taxi over, hope that's okay. You said parking was a trouble." 

"Of course, of course. No bother at all." The planner patted down pockets, gathering keys and a wallet. "What sort of food sounds best to you? You must know by now I am partial to... well to just about anything, really."

Anthony quirks a small smile and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Erm. There's Indian, not far from 'ere. Little place, guid food. That alright?" Anthony tipped his head to the side, eyes asking. 

"Oh, certainly! If you mean _Vedas_ we simply _must_ get their red pepper tapenade and garlic hummus. Oh, and their in-house naan, simply _divine_." Ezra donned his coat and followed Anthony out, locking up the shop behind them. They set off on foot, talking amiably about the work week and the upcoming wedding until they were sat at the small table inside a festively lit little restaurant. 

When the girl came for their order, Ezra leaned in. "Do you mind the appetizer I mentioned on the way, or would you be more partial to something else?" 

"No, that's fine, angel. Go ahead," Anthony tipped his chin and smiled. The talking and light banter along the way had eased some of his nerves, and Ezra seemed to notice. He beamed back at the singer and ordered the dips and naan along with a steaming pot of a strong darjeeling and two cups. 

"So, shall we lay off the work talk and get a little personal?" Ezra asked, popping another pinch of bread into his mouth with a smear of the salty tapenade. "We've.. well. It's just we've seen rather a lot of one another and yet I feel like I still hardly know you." 

Anthony watches his throat on the bashful swallow, mirrors the movement. He feels himself nod. 

"Well then." Ezra shimmies in his seat and smiles, eyes flitting like he's trying to decide what thought to think next (he is). Anthony waits, watches the condensation on his glass of water drip, and forces himself to breathe. "What were you like in school?" 

The question makes Anthony frown; he didn't expect anything like that. "Erm. Well I- I was a right twat, ter be honest. Came from auld, _auld_ money, had a lot of expectations thrust upon me. I wasn't a bully, but I wasnae nice. 'Least I don't think so." Ezra grins, an empathetic flash of teeth, and pours the tea, stirring a cube of sugar into his own. Anthony follows suit, squeezes out the honey from a wax stem and watches the crystals melt and disperse. "My teachers 'ated me, I never stopped bletherin' about. Met a few kids that seemed outcasts, more for their attitudes than anythin' else. Got in with them and we all got booted out afore the end o' term. Me mam and da were right livid wi' me fer that. I was sent to live with me auntie, switched schools and kept me head down the last year and then before I could start uni the parents died. So I dinny go." 

"Is that when you started your band?" Ezra asks, sipping at his tea again. Anthony swallows. Ezra's refined RP next to his own drawling lilt seems more stark than usual. It's probably just anxiety, getting worse with each sentence. 

Because here comes the fun part of sharing his soul. 

"Eh. No. I uhm. Well, I went a lil awol with the money they left me. Bought a flat in Mayfair with cash, held parties ev'ry week. Did a few brief stints in auld Bailey fer drug possession, mos'ly stuff left behind by party goers, but I canny deny the weed." Anthony's throat gives up a self-deprecating sound and he shakes his head, staring hard at the table. "Started doing drag fer the high of it, the showmanship and endorphins of a show. Ended up needing the money from gigs more'n anything after about two years. Bee found me there, actually. At a show. Asked me to front their band and use my business savvy in booking gigs to keep them afloat financially." 

"You do seem good at contract negotiation, as well as keeping yourselves in work." 

"I-- yeah." Anthony stumbles over the compliment, however vague. "We do well enough to keep our lights on." _Most of the time._ "Sssso anyway, yeah. That's erm. Me. What about you?" 

"Ah, well I did _not_ come from money but we did decently enough. I was a good student but not popular, being both on the _soft_ side and bookish." Ezra folds his hands on the table and barrels on. "I came out to my mother in university, and while she was not surprised in the least she did seem a bit disappointed that I was... _acknowledging_ that part of myself. My father told me to find myself a job and place to live, as I was not to bring _that part of me_ back into their home. They didn't cut me off, exactly, but I felt the severance all the same. Emotionally, you could say. So I met a boy and we found a small apartment to live in together while we finished school, and then for a bit beyond it. In fact, we were together for nearly fifteen years, on and off. After a friend stayed with us for some time, she... well. Brought to light some of Gabriel's nastier habits. Once exposed, I couldn't unsee the pattern of abuse. Eventually I finally had enough of it and I left, moving into the small rooms above my shop. And it's been nearly four years since." 

"'S good yeh listened to her, then," Anthony murmured, nibbling on a torn piece of bread. 

"Indeed. So while I only have really one relationship to base anything on, I know what to be aware of, now. And I haven't dated properly since, aside from you." Anthony's chest flutters at the recognition that they are, in fact, _dating properly_. "Have you had trouble with partners? You're so beautiful and kind, my dear. I find it hard to imagine you being alone for long at all." 

Anthony blushes and drops his chin. "N-no, no really. No' much of one fer relationships, past me. I was more of the pullin' type, taking someone home to shock an' awe them at my superficial wealth and then kick 'em to the kerb at daylight so they didn't see past the facade. I've been slapped aroon," he shrugs one shoulder and will not let himself look at Ezra's face, see the disappointment there.

"Some guys see th' drag show and think they've pulled a weak little fairy an' think they can force you to do anything." He shifts uncomfortably and avoids Ezra's gaze again. "I said what I said our first night because o' men like that. Ones I've pulled after a show who want to ignore the fact that I am a _man_ , despite the dress and fake tits. They wan' me on me knees or all fours and dinny touch me, just wanna check it off their list o' lays. Tuik me a long time to realize tha', unfortunately. Erm. Coupla' years ago one bloke tried to rape me in the alley outside o' the club. When I put up a fight he broke my nose and wrist, choked me bad enough I couldn't sing for a few months after." He winces at Ezra's sharp intake of breath. "I was grateful that my young, stupid self had paid off me flat and the car after that, didn't have food or electric fer a while with no money from gigs while I couldn't perform. And no one wants to book a drag queen in a cast, even for lip synching.That's when we signed on Ligur, who _can_ sing even if he doesnae like to. He usually does backup now." Anthony still won't look above that ridiculous bowtie, feels like he can't, but when he finally chances a glance at the other man, Ezra is not looking at him with horror or pity. More like... understanding. 

It's more than Anthony's had in his favor in a while. 

Which means that he is not so much _surprised_ as categorically _mortified_ when someone who is not their waiter walks up to the table and starts loudly chatting Ezra up. It's also unfortunate that he recognizes the voice from how it echoed through that darkened alleyway nearly four years ago. He glances up and turns to stone.. Goose flesh erupts over his entire epidermis and Ezra must feel it under his palm, because he tenses too, glancing up at the interloper with an indignant, flat expression. 

"Ezra! Hi there, sweetheart. Imagine seeing _you_ in a _restaurant_!" The man laughs, a booming- fake thing, and throws his head back. Anthony wants to vomit. 

"Gabriel." Ezra purses his lips.

Okay, now he _really_ wants to vomit. What the actual fuck. The guy who smashed his face into a brick wall and twisted his arm until the joint gave was Ezra's abusive ex?

_What kind of fucking world is this?_

"Who is _this_ ," Gabriel turns his hips and face toward the singer where his smile stagnates, and then abruptly turns back, clearly having recognized him at least enough to be shocked. "Wow, I thought you went for _manly_ men, Ezra. Maybe not, haha, maybe that's why you left." He throws his hands up, placating, and chuckles rudely again. 

"I'll have you know there were many reasons I left, Gabriel. You personality and cruelty being chiefest among them. If you'll lumber along, now, we were rather enjoying lunch." Ezra makes a scoot along gesture with his free hand and physically turns away. Anthony tries to swallow against the pool of saliva under his tongue, willing away the clammy sweat that has broken over his skin. Ezra frowns and rubs a circle on the backs of his knuckles, hackles raised and jaw set. He knows something more than thrown insults is wrong here.

Anthony curses himself and his inability to keep his shit together. He's ruined the date, the mood. Probably the relationship. He flinches when Gabriel talks again. 

"Yeah, okay. Have fun with your little bundle of painted up _damaged goods_. I'm sure he's good for a few things," Gabriel scoffs and stomps away, nearly knocking over a server's full tray. 

Anthony only realizes his jaw and eyes are screwed tightly closed when Ezra pets his hand again and asks him to open up. He blinks at the wedding planner, buzzing inside, and tries to listen through the crashing of his own tidal wave of anxiety, the heartbeat in his ears drowning everything else out.

 _You fucked it up, he's going to go back to work now and never look back._ _You worthless fucking goddamned idiot._

"Anthony _please_ breathe, try to relax. Taste this," Anthony patently does not want to eat a thing but he opens his mouth anyway, lets Ezra place something inside. When he bites down the flavor shocks his senses. It's a whole lemon wedge. He splutters and spits it out, blinking widely at the other man with more surprise than betrayal in his eyes. 

Ezra has the gall to smile shy back at him. "You looked like you were having an anxiety attack. Shocking the senses usually helps." He shrugs and puts his hand back over Anthony's, looking worried himself at the rude interaction they'd just suffered. 

"I'm very sorry that we were interrupted. I haven't run into him in nearly year, I had assumed he'd gone back to America by now." Ezra chews his lip and frowns. Anthony wants to wipe the look off his face, take him home and curl up together somewhere dark and calm. But he knows Ezra has a busy day, and Bee will likely call a rehearsal because of the wedding so soon. He squeezes his molars together and focuses on the feel of Ezra's soft fingers curved around his palm. 

He's afraid to tell Ezra why Gabriel had shocked him so deeply, scared it will make the planner see too many lines between them in the sand, too much damage to be overcome. He'll leave, and Anthony will go back to being alone and pathetic. 

Ezra beats him to it. "Did you know him?" He asks, brows knitted together. When Anthony swallows against the brick in his throat the planner's face unwrinkles, understands. "He's tried to pick you up?" 

"He's-- erm. Yes. _Tried_." 

"Anthony. I have little care left for him at all, but _you_ are quite another story. Tell me." 

"He's the one. Uhm. From the alley." By _Christ_ he can feel his neck and cheeks mottling, burning hot with that old rage and layered thick with shame. Ezra's _i'm dealing with a difficult client and hiding my reaction_ mask slides into place across his usually-open features, hiding some rooted, visceral reaction. 

"What." 

"Ye- _listen_. It was _years_ ago. I'm... I'm _okay_. I-- it was taken care of then, and he dinny try to star' anything jus' now, even though he kenned who I was the second he actually _looked_." The blonde stills for a moment and his jaw works, features otherwise carefully controlled. Anthony frets.

"Excuse me," Ezra stands and goes to the takeaway counter, requesting their lunch to be bagged instead. In a few moments, he returns, bill paid and a bag stacked with boxes in hand. Anthony can't deny that he is preparing for the other shoe to drop, shoulders hunched in dismay at how wildly out of control this simple lunch date had become. 

"Back to mine?" Ezra offers a hand and walks them out, back through Soho to the shop. Once stationed safely inside, doors locked behind their shoulders, he installs Anthony at the small table and two chairs in the kitchen of his little flat upstairs and begins unpacking the food. 

"Talk, _please_. And be explicit, he was abusive to me, too, you know." 

Anthony chokes on his own spit, mortified at the comparison of one night to years of gaslighting, and curls in on himself. "I don't--." 

Ezra waits patiently, looking a little sad. "You don't have to, but I dont want it to come between us. I thought perhaps some airing of a mutual aggressor might prevent that. He never hit me. Not more than a hearty thump on the shoulder, or what have you. But I didn't exactly _not_ see that potential in him, to be vicious in more than cruel words."

"He didn't do much, angel. He tried to pull me at the club. Followed me outside when I was 'avin a fag and he came up on me. It was full dark and I couldnae see 'im well, with me eyes. He asked ta take me home, or to me dressing room, and I told 'im ta bugger off, and he caged me in against the wall, tried ta coerce me, gave me a grope, too. I tossed my cigarette and tried ta shove 'im off, and he grabbed me round the neck and one wrist, which is how he broke it, me struggling ta get away. He shoved my face into the brick, which is 'ow he broke me nose. 'E pressed up on me and then tried to come in fer a kiss and I headbutted 'im backward in the nose, turnt an' kneed his bollocks, and started to run but he caught me ankle and I fell, which is how I broke my wrist the rest of the way; I couldnae catch meself well in the heels and I landed 'ard. I kicked 'im with my other heel and he let go when he screamed, so I ran fer the front o' the building where the bouncers were and warned 'em, and they sent me to the A&E with another queen." 

Ezra is silent for a while, masticating over that scene including one man he used to love and knows the emotional breadth of well, and another he now loves dearly. He is struggling to reconcile the two warring emotions within him of blind, protective _rage_ and disassociation. He knows Anthony doesn't deserve the latter, no matter what Gabriel deserves. 

"I am so sorry, my dear. I don't-- I don't quite know what to feel. Aside from anger, anyway." 

"Angel, _please_." Anthony fidgets in his seat, acutely aware of exactly how badly he wants to launch across the table and squeeze the desolation out of Ezra's voice. "Don't get hung up on it. We've been 'aving such a good time, you and me. I.. I _like_ you." He finishes quietly, a bit of scoff on the end to lessen the blow to both their hearts when Ezra inevitably decides it isn't enough to overcome this chasm between them, this moat dug by a violent ex. 

"I like you, too," Ezra chuckles, coming out of the funk bit by bit. It makes Anthony smile, despite himself. He wiggles in his seat again, staring sightlessly at the array of curry growing cold between them. "I think for once in my life I've lost my appetite. What do you say we put this in the refrigerator and try again later?" 

"Oh _thank someone_. Yes," Anthony says fervently, pleased that Ezra isn't going to try to feed him now. He'd probably throw it up. 

"I have some things that _have_ to be done today, my dear, but you are welcome to join me or stay here while I go out. Though I don't much enjoy the idea of either of us being alone right now." 

Anthony nods and follows Ezra's tug on his fingers, coming around the table to sit in his lap and accept a kiss that turns into a dozen, scattered across noses and cheekbones and eyelids alike. 

* * *

They curl naked (laid bare in many ways) into Ezra's narrow, springy, but comfortable bed that night, done in from the day and exhausted in both body and spirit. Anthony tucks his concave parts against Ezra's curves and lets himself be manhandled into being the smaller spoon. Ezra holds him from behind, closely, and presses kisses against his nape, nosing aside his hair.

He rubs his lips against the tendons holding tight to Anthony's skull and breathes there, smelling wisps of shampoo, conditioner, sweat, stress. There is a dry, tacky patch under his palm, just under the sharp ledge of Anthony's sternum; a missed smear of come from their tender lovemaking earlier, seeking softness and acceptance and finding both in one another. 

Ezra knows he can _never_ let this man go. Anthony was a one in a million shot who has turned out to be so _incredibly_ dear to him. Someone he was never meant to love, but Ezra has never been one to stay inside arbitrary lines. His heart is heavy at what he's learned today, the worry that maybe his split from Gabriel fueled some desperate, violent act in an alley a few months later. He clutches Anthony tighter and lets out a gust of breath into his hair. 

"Are you 'avin profound thoughts, angel?" Anthony murmurs sleepily, stifling a yawn. He holds Ezra's hand to his chest and wiggles closer still, painting himself along Ezra' front, tight as can be. They are going to be stuck together with sweat come morning, but neither minds. 

"I am, darling. I'm rather circling around the realization that I love you." 

Anthony stills against him for a beat, startled, but the tension bleeds back out of him in the next breath. "Oh, guid," he says airily, not fooling either of them with the tremor in his voice. "Y'had me worried it was jus' me 'oldin that torch." 

Ezra chuckles against his nape, burrowing gently, and sighs. 

They have a week until the biggest career event of their lives, and he is adamant that it will be smooth sailing afterward. 

**Author's Note:**

> HAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII i'm back on my bullshit with an AU!  
> i am more used to writing Irish accent than Scots, so bear with me, BUT i was actually pretty sad that they didnt let David speak normally in this literally UK-based production (deadpans the BBC) and i wanted him to so, there you have it.  
> i am MarisFerasiOP on tumblr, come talk to me and give me dirty ideas.  
> i love you all! please comment and kudos, they give me life! <3


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